World Academy
by the-pottertalian
Summary: What happens when you throw a bunch of students from different countries into an English secondary school? Chaos. That's what. A selection of very short stories, updated infrequently. Characters will be varied.
1. Hockey

**I don't own these characters, nor do I own the British education system. Believe me, if I did, it would be very different. **

Shooting a glare back at his friends, Roderich brushed his hair out of his face and grasped his hockey stick with a deep breath. He would not give up. He had to at least _try_ to look as if he was doing something for his side - even if his companions weren't.

As the swarm of competitive teenagers moved his way, he edged closer, daring to pick up his pace and chase after the ball a little as it drew closer to the goal. He tried his best to tackle an opponent, but only managed to nearly trip over his now loose shoelaces.

He really hated PE lessons.

He glanced back again at the three watching him and smirking. He glared and called over to the three.

"I thought we were meant to be in this together, Arthur! What happened to that, hm?" His tone was accusing. He couldn't really blame Lovino for not taking part - in his hurry to escape his brother and Roderich's younger cousin, the Italian had forgotten his kit that morning - and Lukas hadn't been feeling particularly well for the past week. But Arthur? What excuse did he have for leaving poor Roderich on a pitch full of sports-orientated teenagers?

He really hated the British. Thankfully, he only really knew of one of said category.

That was the one he hated the most.

Roderich also hated the rain. And the wind. And the cold. And, of course, the hideous clothes he was currently wearing. There would never be anything flattering about shorts and rugby shirts. Not to mention the awful shoes he was wearing. Truly disgusting.

What else did he hate?

Oh, yes. He really hated hockey. It was an awful sport, really; running about on a slippery faux-grass pitch in shoes with absolutely no grip, trying to achieve a pointless goal that no one even cared ab-

_Owwww. Schieße._

He could only assume that what had just happened was that he had just been run into, as that would be the only explanation as to why he was now on the ground. Perhaps he should have been paying more attention...

He stood up and brushed himself off, ignoring the words of concern from the others around him. With a bit of luck, the lesson would be over soon.

...and there was the whistle, signalling the end of the game. His prediction had been right, he noted dully, and suddenly realised that when he fell, his clothing had become wet. Great. Not not only were the awful plimsole-things saturated, so was the rest of him. He handed his hockey stick to the idiot collecting them, and walked off in the direction of the changing rooms. His nose was in the air as he walked past his 'friends', completely ignoring him. All he received in return were sniggers.

He hated British people. Specifically, English people. Wearing eyeliner. And Italians. (From the south, anyway. Feliciano wasn't currently laughing at him.) And Norwegians wrapped in their boyfriends' coats.

(But he loved them all really.)

_A/N_

_This may or may not be based on my hockey lesson the other day. The next chapter may or may not also be based on one of my lessons... Behold my pathetic attempt at humour. Review? *hopeful pout*_


	2. How On Earth Did We Four Become Friends?

"You know... I can't quite remember how we all met and managed to become friends," Roderich commented one lunchtime, grimacing as he sipped his imperfect coffee - next time, he would just bring a flask of his own. "I'm not entirely when exactly it was that we all met."

The others looked at him, thinking it over. "I think we all met at different times," Arthur said thoughtfully. "I know I didn't actually speak to you until we met in our first class together - was it French? I think it was..."

"I didn't properly meet any of you until that History trip," Lukas said, smirking at the memory.

"Ugh, don't bring that up," groaned Lovino. "The amount of junk food we all ate... Did we actually even fucking learn anything?"

"I learnt one thing, that's for sure - Alfred F. Jones cannot sing," Arthur replied, "and he and an almost endless supply of authentic Belgian chocolate do not get on well."

"And when you say that we all consumed junk food, I do believe you should be excluding Arthur and I," the Norwegian smirked again, "for unlike you two, we have some self-control."

Roderich blushed deeply. Hey, it wasn't his fault that he was rather partial to high-end confectionary. "It wasn't really _junk food_. That term usually refers to the greasy, cheap rubbish. Lovino and I were in fact eating some very expensive and high-quality food."

"With about five hundred calories attached," Arthur grinned.

"Yes, well," the Austrian said hastily, "we seem to have gone off-track somewhat."

"I agree," Lovino said quickly, the two blondes laughing quietly at them.

"Then by all means," Lukas said, trying to quell his laughter, "bring us back on track."

_A few years ago_

**Roderich and Lovino**

The group of young teenagers gathered nervously in the middle of the classroom, eyeing one another warily. One student stood a little away from the crowd, running a hand through his dark hair nervously and fiddling with his glasses and blazer. He looked at the group cautiously, not wanting to be dragged into it, yet not wanting to look stand-offish, either.

Soon, the crowd dissipated a little, realising that their teacher was most likely late, and forming little cliques already. An auburn-haired boy approached Roderich with a beaming smile.

"Ve~ Ciao! I'm Feliciano Vargas, but you can call me Feli! It's great to meet you! What's your name?"

"Er... Hallo. It's a pleasure to meet you, too. My name is Roderich Edelstein," he replied quietly, a little taken aback by Feliciano's forward-ness.

"Oooh, you have a nice accent, where are you from?" The Italian trilled.

He blushed and stuttered his response. "I-I'm Austrian. Vienna."

"Ve, snazzy~! I'm Italian! Me and my fratello lived in Rome until last year - it was so weird, these British people drive so slowly! And seriously, what's with all the tea?" Feliciano continued to talk rapidly about the strange things the British do (Roderich privately agreed, but he wasn't about to say anything - honestly, though - from all he had observed, the British were, to say the least, quirky), until another student approached them, scowling.

"Feliciano! Where the hell were you? _Chigi! _I thought I'd lost you, arsehole!" This person also had a thick accent. When Roderich observed the two more closely, he came to the conclusion that they were most definitely related - due to their differences in behaviour, it wasn't particularly obvious at first.

Said brunette then noticed Roderich, gave him a once-over, and nodded shortly in greeting. "Ciao. Who are you?"

The Austrian introduced himself quickly and nervously, and held his hand out for the other to shake. The Italian took it, and realised that he himself hadn't introduced himself. "I'm Lovino Vargas - this idiot's brother:"

"Ve, fratello, that's mean~! I'm not an idiot!" Feliciano pouted.

Spotting his cousin in the midst of the crowd, Roderich waved the blonde over. "Feliciano, Lovino - this is my cousin, Ludwig... Ludwig, this is Feliciano and Lovino..."

"Hallo," Ludwig said quietly, his eyes on Feliciano.

"Ciao~!" Feliciano replied, suddenly wrapping his arms around the taller student.

"Fuck, already?!" The other Italian exclaimed, earning a quizzical look from Roderich.

"...what?"

"It seems my brother has found himself a new boyfriend..."

Roderich facepalmed. Perhaps it wasn't just the British who were weird - Germans and Italians seemed a little strange at the moment, too.

**Arthur**

_French_.

One of Arthur's least favourite subjects. And guess what? He didn't know anyone in his new class.

It wasn't because he was bad at it. He was relatively good at the language without being the top of the class - it wasn't that that irked him about the lesson. It was more the way the teacher constantly went over the same things, again and again and again. He'd lost count of the amount of times they'd covered the imperfect tense.

Oh, and look. He was being stared at. _Yes, I'm wearing eyeliner. Get over it! It's called punk, idiot! _He sighed, and began decorating his new homework diary with random song quotes, paying as little attention as possible to those around himself. Until, that is, he was approached by a pair of brunettes.

"Er... I'm sorry, but, er, would it be okay if we sat here?" The taller of the two asked, the other sufficing with just glaring at a tall, blonde student, who was being clung to by another person who greatly resembled him.

He waved a hand, indicating for them to go ahead. The one who had spoken introduced himself as Roderich, then introduced the still-glaring Italian as Lovino.

"I'm Arthur - Arthur Kirkland. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Roderich, Lovino..." Arthur said formally, ignoring the smirk the Italian gave him at his choice of words.

The three spent the first ten minutes in a somewhat awkward silence, Roderich seemingly taking notes, Lovino doodling on the cover of his book and Arthur just not paying attention as they covered l'imparfait for the thousandth time. After a while, it got too much for Arthur and he decided to break the silence.

"Roderich, are you seriously taking notes on this?" He asked, slightly incredulously.

The Austrian looked up. "Yes..."

"Why? We've covered this so many times!"

"Force of habit, really." He set down his pen and flexed his long fingers. "I suppose I don't really need to. How many times have we done this again? This and the perfect. It's so tedious..."

"I know... Are we ever going to cover anything else?"

"We had better. I want to pass my GCSE, thanks... I would switch to German, but I feel that would be cheating in some ways, considering it's my first language. Besides, Austrian German varies slightly from the German spoken in Germany."

"Hey, at least you have the option to 'study' your first language," Lovino cut in, "Italian isn't even taught, it fucking sucks!"

"I'll second that - my first language is English, but growing up with my brothers I've picked up Welsh and a bit of few other languages," Arthur agreed. "In any case, they could at least vary the curriculum for French... "

"Agreed," said Roderich. "Nous form of verb plus correct ending, used when describing something that happened more than one in the past. We get it."

They discussed the increasingly unvaried syllabus for the remainder of the lesson, then filed out, subconsciously following each other to the cafeteria to eat lunch together.

From then on, somehow, the three became friends.

(Although Lovino still referred to the two as 'bastardos'.)

_A/N_

_See, I told you updates would be few and far between. Blame Fire and Ice - that story is just getting harder and harder to write as I near the finish. In any case, with the next chapter completed, I decided to write this. The inspiration for this goes to theSardonyx - see, there was a reason as to why I didn't reply to your review! I'm aware this didn't cover Lukas; this is, to be honest, a filler-style chapter before I write the History trip, which will require going through my photos and notes on my phone and old iPod so I can recall more clearly just what happened in Belgium last year - it was a whirlwind of sugar rushes, mud and spending too much money. Oh, and table tennis. I just felt that that would be the best way for them to meet Lukas - residentials are an amazing way to make new friends, as I know from experience! And as for the way the three became friends... That's how the best friendships are formed, right? Just kind of finding yourself friends with someone? Oh, the amount of friends I've made that way..._

_Yeah, I'll shut up now. I just couldn't resist writing this! Thank you, theSardonyx!_


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